“You damned Death Eaters!
Get up and eat!” Paul’s heavy footsteps approach from far away, and the cursing in his mouth becomes clearer and clearer.
Every day, he has to face Dementors and a large number of prisoners who have lost their souls.
His whole body feels weariness and numbness from the inside out.
The key ring jingles and clatters, automatically opening the small windows on the iron doors.
The pouch floating beside Paul flies out several moldy pieces of bread and drills them into the cells.
For prisoners who have not yet lost their souls, Paul uses the most vicious words to humiliate them, and then, as if granting charity, throws them a few more pieces of bread.
Paul looks at those wizards who have lost their reason and heaves a heavy sigh.
He is actually about the same as the prisoners.
At most, he is on the outside.
“Go, clean the room, and wash my clothes too.” Paul catches sight of Rayleigh, and nameless fury surges up in his heart.
‘Why should he be able to receive a Hogwarts acceptance letter and leave this place, while after all my years of hard work, I still cannot see any end to it?’
He has sent resignation requests to London many times, and every time, they were rejected.
The reason for rejection is very simple: During the war he was a deserter.
If he does not want to be held accountable, then he should be a good Azkaban’s administrator.
“Yes, my lord.” Rayleigh lowers his head and slips away along the wall.
Paul is the king here.
If he makes Paul angry, being put in confinement is considered light.
‘The acceptance letter!’ Rayleigh carries the broom into the office, where the place has once again been messed up by his failed potion.
Rayleigh gently closes the door and secretly opens Paul’s drawer.
Inside there are some rusted pocket watches and exquisite necklaces, all left behind by wizards who died in Azkaban.
Rayleigh slowly rummages through them, and from the very back, he takes out a letter.
On the front of the parchment envelope it says: To Rayleigh Travers, Azkaban Castle C2, North Sea.
Rayleigh turns it over and opens it, pulls out the letter inside, and reads it softly.
[Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore;
Dear Mr.
Travers:
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
The term begins on September 1.
We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall]
“You damned little Death Eater, you little thieving rat, what are you doing!” Paul kicks the door open and rushes in.
He grins viciously at Rayleigh.
The warning spell he had set up was indeed triggered by this brat.
“Accio!” Paul waves the spell, and the acceptance letter flies into his hand.
“You want it, right?
You want to leave this place, right?
You want to go to Hogwarts, right?” He smiles uglily and tears the letter into pieces right in front of Rayleigh.
“Go on, why don’t you go?” Paul storms over in a few steps and slaps Rayleigh across the face.
Rayleigh is knocked to the ground by him, and bright red blood appears at the corner of his mouth.
“You damned little thing, just stay here obediently for me.
If I have not left Azkaban, you want to leave?
Hmph, keep dreaming!”
“I am telling you, it was me who saved you!
It was me who raised you from this big!
Starting today, you are not allowed to see Jessica anymore.
Also, I am going to starve you for three days properly!
Next time you dare to do something like this again, I will feed you to the Dementors!”
Rayleigh suppresses the fury in his heart and the hatred in his eyes, and looks at Paul with a slight sob in his voice: “My lord, I have a way to let you leave Azkaban.”
“You?
What do you count as?” Paul gives him another punch and grabs his torn clothes, lifting him into the air.
“My lord, you can listen to it.
If you think it is fake, then lock me up again.”
“Mm.” Paul’s steps pause, and he scratches his head, which has only a few hairs left, in thought.
“Say it.”
Rayleigh is thrown to the ground by him and sits there supporting himself against the wall.
“My lord, to leave here, you definitely cannot go to the Ministry of Magic.
But you can go to someone who can influence the Ministry of Magic.”
“Hey, you mean Dumbledore?
Little thing, in the end, you still just want to leave this place by yourself.”
“Not Dumbledore.
It is Miss Rita Skeeter.” Rayleigh sees Paul’s clenched fist and hurriedly says that person’s name.
“Rita?” Paul looks at Rayleigh in confusion, ‘Who is this?’
“My lord, there is a copy of the Daily Prophet in your office.”
“Ha, I did not expect your mother actually taught you how to read.
Damn owl, it came once more than ten years ago, and then never came again.”
Rayleigh looks at Paul, who has gone to look for the newspaper, and lets out a breath of relief.
“You mean this?” He takes out that yellowed newspaper, which published the news that the magical world had defeated You-Know-Who.
“Yes, that is her, Rita from the Daily Prophet.
She is a celebrity, and her words and her reports carry a lot of weight.
You only need to tell her that the Ministry of Magic locked an innocent child in Azkaban, and she will definitely report it widely.”
“And then?” Paul does not understand the meaning of doing this.
In his view, telling the Daily Prophet is not as good as writing to Dumbledore.
“My lord, Miss Rita will help us attack the Ministry of Magic.
As long as this causes a huge uproar, the Minister for Magic will definitely transfer you away from here.”
“Transfer?
I am afraid they will directly fire me!”
“That is not so terrible either.
Think about it, my lord.
With your information, Miss Rita will make the newspaper sell hugely.
She will definitely thank you generously.
By then, with a large sum of money, why would you still care about the Ministry of Magic’s attitude?”
“Tsk…
let me think about it properly.” Paul throws Rayleigh into the dark room.
He paces back and forth in the office, thinking about whether he can do this.
If he tells Dumbledore the news, the matter will only be resolved quietly.
The Ministry of Magic might even treat it as a scandal and throw Paul into Azkaban under the charges of dereliction of duty and desertion.
If he sells the news to the Daily Prophet, he will definitely be able to earn a great deal of Galleons.
By then, with money, where would be worse than here?
Who in the hell would be willing to stay here counting stars with Dementors?
As for telling the Ministry of Magic, Paul smiles disdainfully.
Those weak and greedy fools would not even come here at all.
“Reparo.” Paul waves his wand, ‘The method this damned brat spoke of is indeed feasible.’
He excitedly clenches his fist, and a black handprint sticks to the envelope.
The school crest on it is still so nostalgic.
Red background with gold lion (Gryffindor), blue background with bronze eagle (Ravenclaw), yellow background with black badger (Hufflepuff), and green background with silver snake (Slytherin); there is also the Hogwarts motto: Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus.
(T/N: It means ‘Never tickle a sleeping dragon’.)
“Back then, the Sorting Hat should have sorted me into Hufflepuff instead of Gryffindor.” Paul complains.
As a deserter, he looks more like an ordinary and unremarkable little badger, not a lion full of courage.
Paul spreads the yellowed parchment on the table.
After many years without writing, he does not even know how to write anymore.
“A child, although his parents were Death Eaters, was thrown into Azkaban by the Ministry of Magic for eleven whole years.
He has never seen sunlight, has no new clothes, and spends every day with Dementors.” Paul writes crookedly.
Once this letter reaches Rita’s hands, it will definitely become an event that shakes the entire magical world!
“No, it is going to shatter it!” Paul nods firmly and writes down everything he knows.
“Thank you, old Barty!
Thank you, dear Headmaster Dumbledore!” Paul hands the letter to his owl and, watching the gradually disappearing black dot, excitedly waves his fist.
Hogwarts’ new students are recorded by the Book of Admittance and written down by the Quill of Acceptance.
All the headmaster has to do is sign his name and let the school’s owls send them out.
Paul can figure it out even with his toes that it must have been Dumbledore’s quill signing automatically.
Otherwise, the man himself would already have come to Azkaban to rescue Rayleigh.
“Magic being too convenient is not always a good thing.” Paul comfortably puts his legs up on the table and plays with Rayleigh’s acceptance letter.
With a light flick, it is thrown back into the deep drawer.
“But since we are going to make some big news, the little thing should be even more miserable.” Paul remembers something and picks up the keys.